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“I don’t know why we even bother going out to eat,” Loki muttered, as he discarded his clothes and joined his boyfriend on the bed. “I swear the cameras were in my face half the time.”
“I thought you liked being the center of attention,” Stephen said lightly. “But to be honest, you won’t escape it. People are going to recognise you regardless of where we go.”
“This is all your fault, you know.”
Stephen had to laugh. “How so?”
“You’re a celebrity around these parts, are you not?” Loki said crossly. “The friendly neighbourhood Sorcerer, Supreme edition.”
“Babe…” It was a term of endearment Loki hated but was secretly fond of, the one term that always worked for Stephen whenever he found himself grappling for the right words, “If it bothers you so much, you can always shift, you know.”
Loki made a face. "Just because I can shapeshift doesn't mean I enjoy it."
“But you do it all the time,” Stephen said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.
“Not when I’m on a date with you!” Loki retorted, a tad more heatedly than he intended.
The silence that ensued was one of stunned realisation, one that Loki did not take very well.
"Why should that surprise you, Stephen? I'm a narcissist."
"Funny. You are the only narcissist I've met who doesn't like people talking about him."
"Funny. I think of you the same."
"Every time you ask me questions, I have always answered them."
"Maybe I don't like to ask, Strange."
"I'll...keep that in mind," Stephen said slowly.
"There you go making that face again," Loki teased.
The more Stephen tried to school his facial expression, the more it betrayed him. "What face?"
Loki snorted. "Like you're dying to ask me a thousand questions."
"Just one, actually."
Loki pursed his lips, pondering the wisdom of probing further, but alas, he was a curious soul by nature. "It's not something corny like 'do you love me', is it?"
"I do," Stephen said quietly. "Do you?"
Loki's silhouette cast a great shadow across Stephen's face as he pushed himself onto an elbow. "What are you asking me?"
"I'm asking you…" Stephen cupped the side of Loki's face, drew back the curls from his forehead, said a prayer in his ear, "- to love me."
He knew not what he was thinking, beseeching to the God of Chaos for a scrap of affection he was not likely to give, but Stephen had nothing to lose.
"Love me like it's the last night on Earth, and I'm the only one left."
"You are the only person on Earth to me," Loki whispered. "I see no other."
Stephen could not speak, so his mouth searched for Loki's lips instead. Indeed, they were softer and sweeter every time he kissed them, an impossibility but the indefatigable truth.
Loki could wear any form but Stephen would know him just by the taste of his lips.
“Loki,” he murmured amidst the honey kisses - “My Loki. My sweet, sweet Loki.”
Loki reciprocated by peppering Stephen’s face all over with more of the kisses, staking a claim of his own. “Mine.”
“Mine, mine, mine.”